You
by Kattily
Summary: Kenny never imagined that it could happen to him until one fat brunette turns his life upside-down. Now Stan is left with the task of bringing his friend back, and maybe realizing something else along the way. Stenny, minor Creek/Tokendy/Clybe. Rape.
1. Chapter 1: Pain

Title: You

Summary: Kenny never imagined that it could happen to him until one fat brunette turns his life upside-down. Now Stan is left with the task of bringing his friend back, and maybe realizing something else along the way. Stenny, minor Creek/Tokendy/Clybe. Rape.

Pairings: Stenny, some Creek, Tokendy, and Clybe, one-sided Carnny.

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. Or Playboy.

Warning: This chapter contains rape. Don't read it if you have issues with that type of thing.

_A/N: So, maybe I actually did decide to upload something. Concrit welcome, flames will be used to bake internet cookies for my beta._

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Pain.<strong>

Kenny sighed, closing the glossy pages of his Playboy and tossing the magazine onto the floor. Lately, magazines really hadn't been doing it for him. There were only so many naked girls he could look at before pictures started to get boring. The boy pulled a portable DVD player out from under his bed, the one that Kyle had gotten him for his birthday one year. Next to it he kept a stack of DVDs, stolen from Stan's dad's porn collection. All of the videos were pretty vanilla, but they got him hard enough anyway. Of course, he wouldn't have to worry if he had wi-fi, but he'd lost that when his mother had lost her job four years ago.

The boy grinned, finally, when he found a disk at the bottom of the stack that he hadn't seen yet. He popped it in, unzipped his pants, and started stroking his dick absently at he waited for the action to start. Luckily for him, this one started off rather quickly. It was the same generic scenario he'd seen plenty of times. Two girls, a blonde and a brunette, were stupid enough to order a pizza that they couldn't pay for. They were lucky, however, because the delivery guy was a handsome man willing to fuck them for it instead. It was lame, of course, but who really watched porn for the storyline?

The heavy breathing and exaggerated moaning was quick to get him hard, but what Kenny found the most arousing were the man's fantastic abs. He found himself concentrating on the way the delivery boy's abs flexed more than the two tight-bodied girls that were double-teaming him. He couldn't help it; Kenny was a sucker for a nice set of abs on a guy. "Mhm, fuck..." he breathed, pumping his fist faster along his erection, hips writhing in pleasure.

The thin boy jumped at a noise in the doorway, looking over in surprise and annoyance at the interruption. How could he have forgotten to lock the door? His "super best friend" Cartman was standing there in the doorway, watching him pleasure himself. His eyes were glazed over and half-closed in arousal, his cheeks flushed. The blonde pulled his orange sweatpants up and then pulled his parka down in attempt to cover his erection, his face bright red in embarrassment. "What the fuck do you want, Cartman?" he asked through the orange fabric of his parka.

"You," the fat boy answered plainly. And Kenny could see that it was true through the desire in his friend's eyes that somehow seemed to radiate into the room. He shrank back from the intensity of Cartman's stare, shifting his weight so that he could run if he needed to. "I'm not into you that way, dude." He said shakily.

An instant later, Kenny found himself pinned to the floor, a sharp pain shooting through his left wrist. Cartman had dove across the bed just as the blonde had started to run, knocking the DVD player onto the floor. It had shattered instantly and Kenny remembered turning toward the sound...and the maniac. He'd never seen the brunette move so quickly. Cartman pressed down on his wrists again, and the tiny blonde cried out in pain. "Let go of me!" he shouted, struggling against his captor. It had been years since Kenny had been able to take his friend in a fight. He'd done it as Mysterion in fourth grade, but that was when Cartman still didn't know how to use his weight to his advantage, and Kenny had still had muscle. He'd lost it all since his mother had lost her job, his body burning the protein in his muscles to keep him alive. Severe malnourishment had left him fragile, while Cartman kept getting stronger.

The boy continued to struggle, even though he knew that it was pointless. "What the fuck, dude?" he cried. "I think you broke my wrist." The pain was coming from the wrist that Cartman had twisted to bring his friend down, and Kenny knew that such a motion could easily break wrists that weren't as delicate as his. The larger boy grinned down at him, his expression pure lust. "You can't put on a show like that for me and then just expect me to leave without getting a piece of you. You brought this on yourself, you little whore." The brunette whispered into Kenny's ear. "Now, you be a good Kenny, and I won't have to break any more of your bones."

Cartman turned his friend over with one hand, pushing his face into the filthy carpet. Kenny clenched his teeth, but he had to admit that the carpet smelled better than the mixture of body odor, gingivitis, and cheesy poofs that he'd been inhaling a moment before. With the other hand, the fat boy pulled the blonde's pants and boxers down to his knees. It took him a little longer to take his own pants off with one hand, but he did it for fear that his prize would try to run off on him if given the slightest chance to do so. "Don't do this, Cartman." His friend moaned, "You're better than this." The fat boy ignored him completely, as if the boy beneath him hadn't said a word. After freeing his erection from the confines of his underwear, the brunette pushed Kenny's parka and undershirt up so that he could hook his arms around that tiny waist. He leaned over the blonde, using Kenny to support most of his weight so that he could position himself to enter his friend.

The added weight pushed the tiny boy flat to the floor, smashing his shoulder loudly in the process. Cartman groaned, realizing that he would need to physically hold the boy up thanks to the injuries he'd dealt to his friend. That was the only time that he'd regretted hurting Kenny.

The blonde found himself feeling grateful that Cartman had allowed him a moment to get his bearings before he started. He was instantly disgusted with himself, both for this and the weakness in his body. He hated being so tiny and so delicate.

The fat boy allowed him only a moment of self-reflection before he started thrusting with all of his might into his "super best friend." Kenny cried out in pain before he could stop himself. Normally, he rather liked to bottom. There was something about being full with a guy's penis that he just found intensely arousing. But Cartman was too rough on him, pumping as hard and fast as he could, only thinking about his own pleasure. He hadn't even had the courtesy to use a little bit of spit to open the boy up, just plunged himself in. There was no pleasure for the boy, only pain and the humiliation of being beaten to the floor and entered against his will. He shrank back further into his parka, his only refuge against the pain and the sound of his captor moaning.

"Oh, Kenny, you're so tight!"

He knew that Cartman had won when he felt the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. It didn't matter how hard he tried to keep his breathing even or how far he pulled himself into his parka. He couldn't escape the pain. Sure, he'd felt worse. Every time he died he felt worse pain than the pain that his so-called "friend" was causing him. Yet somehow this pain hurt him more than any other pain he had felt before it.

The fat boy stiffened suddenly and, crying out in pleasure, melted into Kenny as he came. His weight pushed the tiny boy down again, but this time Cartman didn't care. He was finished with what he'd wanted, and it didn't matter how much he hurt Kenny now. Even so, when his friend cried out in pain again he stood up, freeing the boy from his weight. He pulled the blonde roughly to his feet, eliciting another pained cry. As soon as the larger boy let go, Kenny crumpled to the floor again in a heap.

Cartman shrugged. He'd tried, and now they couldn't call him careless. "You're welcome, Kenny." He said, pulling up his pants and walking out the door.

It was an hour before Kenny could gain enough control over his body to attempt standing up again. He braced himself on the bed with the one arm that he could use and grimaced as his movements tore open the abrasions in his ass again. Fresh blood was beginning to drip down his thigh, but at least he was standing. It felt like some sort of tiny victory when he was finally able to stand. The boy just stood for a moment, assessing his injuries. His wrist was definitely broken, but there was a possibility that his shoulder wasn't, and every breath he took reminded him of the newly-discovered pain in his chest.

Slowly he started to bend down to pull up his pants, and fell into his bed as soon as he lifted his hand. "Fuck!" he shouted in frustration. "Fuck you, fucking fat-ass bastard!" Whining into his parka and his mattress, the boy pulled up his boxers and sweatpants before he tried to stand again.

When he was standing steadily enough, he started to leave. Every step brought another wave of pain, but the blonde kept going. He braced himself with his good arm on anything he could reach to keep himself upright, hating himself for the fact that he couldn't walk on his own. He wanted to just curl up on his bed and die so that everything would go back to the way it had been before. More than that, however, he wanted to run as far away as he could from that horrible room and the stench of body odor, gingivitis, and cheesy poofs. Cartman's terrible smell was overwhelming his senses. He had to go somewhere, anywhere else.

As soon as he stepped away from his house, Kenny fell into the snow for lack of anything to brace himself on. He growled in frustration, pounding the snow with one fist. He knew that he wouldn't have lasted much longer out there in his condition with more than a foot of snow on the ground, but it still made him angry that he couldn't walk.

Somehow, he managed to drag himself through the snow, only vaguely aware of his bare feet and the snow that had made its way into his clothes. He didn't know where he was going until he somehow ended up at Stan's front door. It took the last of his strength to knock. He could feel himself slipping into the blackness at the corners of his vision and was thankful for the relief.

His last conscious thought was "Please, Stan. Please be there."


	2. Chapter 2: Dizzy

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, but I do own the laptop that I watch it on. I also don't own eHow, but I use it regularly.

_A/N: Thanks to all of my kind reviewers. :) Also special thanks to Princess Darkcloud for being a wonderful beta._

_And now, without further ado:_

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Dizzy.<strong>

"Kenny!"

Stan threw open his front door and dropped immediately to the snow beside his friend. The dark-haired boy held his ear to his friend's mouth and, hearing nothing, looked to the smaller boy's chest. He almost melted with relief when he saw the tiny, gentle rise-and-fall motion that told him Kenny was still breathing.

It wasn't the first time that Stan had found his friend injured on his doorstep. Ever since the incident during Elementary School when Stuart McCormick had almost killed his younger son, Stan had made sure that Kenny knew that he could always come to the Marsh household whenever things at home were too difficult to deal with. Sometimes, Stan awoke to find the familiar orange parka curled up on his bedroom floor. Other times, when Kenny's parents were especially drunk or high, Stan would find his friend at his door in search of a safe place. He had learned how to treat cuts and bruises from these experiences, and had become fairly skilled at laundry from his attempts to clean the blood out of Kenny's clothes.

Even when Kenny caused him worry (which was a common occurrence thanks to the blonde's knack for getting into danger and general lack of self-preservation instincts), Stan felt his ego inflate every time that his friend came to him for help. It was always him that Kenny went to, despite the fact that Cartman was supposedly his "Super Best Friend" and that Kyle always offered to take the boy in for a few nights.

While Stan was used to finding the blonde at his house, it was the first time that Kenny had passed out before he had even gotten inside. Frowning, Stan stood up and lifted his friend easily out of the snow. He was strong, the star quarterback of South Park High School's football team, and Kenny was the smallest boy in school, somehow actually managing to be even lighter than he looked. He held the blonde close against his chest, savoring the contact. The dark-haired boy took a deep breath into his friend's hair as he turned to bring the boy inside, and then grimaced at the scent. Kenny usually smelled like fun, sex, cologne, sweat, and occasionally soap. He actually thought that his friend usually smelled warm, and the scent had come to be something that Stan looked for. But there was something foreign lingering on the blonde's skin, something that didn't smell like Kenny at all.

The athlete soon found himself faced with a small dilemma. Should he put Kenny down to close the door, or just leave it open since his arms were full? He was loath to do either. Instead, he shifted the boy in his arms until he had freed one of his hands just barely enough to grab the handle. He turned into the living room, and then changed his mind and started toward his bedroom. It would be easier to take care of Kenny there, and his bed was more comfortable than the couch.

He started upstairs slowly, trying not to jostle his precious cargo. He couldn't be sure of the extent of his friend's injuries yet, and didn't want to make anything worse through carelessness. So he placed the boy gingerly onto his bed and unzipped that parka that he knew so well, folding it aside to wash later. Instantly, Stan noticed the swelling on the boy's wrist, and wondered what other injuries Kenny had suffered. He had never seen the blonde pass out from pain, and he'd seen Kenny with near-fatal wounds.

That was what scared Stan the most. What if Kenny died from whatever had happened to him? He didn't know what he would do without his friend. Kenny was just so important to him. Sometimes, late at night when the blonde was curled up beside him sleeping off the injuries from an accident or a particularly bad beating, Stan thought that he might feel something more for his friend. The feelings kept getting stronger, and the athlete was beginning to wonder if that little feeling was mutual. Sometimes it seemed like it, but he also had to keep reminding himself that Kenny treated everybody like that. Why should he think that he was special?

He slid the first-aid kit out from under his bed. After Kenny's first few visits, Stan had learned to keep medical supplies in his bedroom at all times. His parents and sister asked too many questions whenever they were home and Kenny showed up. Having a first-aid kit on-hand allowed him to avoid the questioning, and kept him from having to leave his friend alone.

"Come on, Kenny. I need you to wake up," he murmured, stroking his friend's cheek with gentle fingers in hope that the sensation might bring him back. When the unconscious boy didn't respond, Stan tapped his face a little bit harder. He was reluctant to do anything that could possibly hurt Kenny, so he reached into the little black case and pulled out one of his emergency smelling salts. He felt a little dorky keeping them, but they came in handy when he needed his friend conscious.

The blonde blinked his eyes open slowly, looking first confused, then oddly content as his dark-haired friend came into focus. "Mhm," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut again.

"C'mon, dude. You've gotta stay with me so I know you're okay." When his friend didn't respond, Stan placed a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. The boy screamed.

"Shit!" Stan jumped, pulling his hand back like it was on fire. "Sorry, Ken! I... I didn't know." He stroked his friend's dirty hair, watching as Kenny shut his blue eyes tightly and clenched his teeth, as if trying to block something out.

"Kenny." He said the boy's name softly, keeping gentle contact with him and waiting for a sign that his friend could hear him. "Kenny, dude, are you there? It's just me, Stan. I promise I won't hurt you again. I promise, Kenny. Just please open your eyes. Look at me, buddy. I need you to look at me."

It was like a miracle when the blonde finally opened his eyes. He was hyperventilating and trembling, like the time he'd overdosed on Oxycontin and nearly died. It seemed like Kenny came close to death at least once a week. Stan kept his hand on the boy's hair, the one place that he was sure it was safe to be. "Ken, you drugged out?" he asked, looking directly into the smaller boy's eyes.

"No," he whispered back, and Stan was thankful to hear his friend's voice. It meant that he wasn't dying immediately. He wasn't sure that he believed the boy, but Kenny never lied to him about his drug and alcohol use. It was too dangerous to lie about, and the blonde knew that. Something else must have happened to him. But what?

"Where's it hurt, Ken?" he asked, looking at the redness around his friend's eyes. Had Kenny been crying? Stan had never seen him cry, only fake tears when they had been young to con adults into giving them what they wanted. The blonde closed his eyes for a moment before he replied. "My shoulder, my wrist, my side, it's really sharp when I breathe." He paused, looking embarrassed. "And my ass."

"Don't move too much," Stan said softly as he started to remover his friend's undershirt. Kenny had what sounded like a broken rib, and he needed to see what was going on. A serious break was too dangerous for Stan to treat on his own, and he really didn't want to have to go to the hospital. He looked over his friend's chest, grimacing when he realized how easily he could count the boy's ribs. On the lowest one he noticed a dark purple bruise that stood out against Kenny's pale skin. He also noticed clearly the swelling and bruising on the boy's collarbone that indicated another fracture.

"Shit," Kenny said, more to himself than anything. "This is just like being high, except with more pain and less boobs. I feel all lightheaded and dizzy and shit." Stan looked at him, confused and concerned. He knew that if he didn't hurry, his friend would probably pass out again. "Tell me what happened," he said in a commanding tone. He had to keep Kenny talking.

At first, the blonde's words didn't make much sense. He babbled something about a pizza guy with abs as Stan started to slide his pants off. Kenny needed a shower more than anything right then. He was reluctant to remove the boy's boxers, and decided to leave them until they needed to come off. Maybe Kenny was okay enough to wash himself.

"And then it broke and I looked and the fatass just climbed on top of me and I couldn't get him off because I'm such a fucking weakling, and he said I was a whore, and he smelled bad, and it hurt so much. It hurt so much, Stan." The athlete froze and stared at the fresh tears beginning to run down his friend's face. Kenny's account of what had happened was pretty incoherent, but Stan was almost positive that the boy had just described being raped. He reeled, bringing a hand to his head. That couldn't be it; it just couldn't. No. There was definitely another explanation for this.

"Kenny... Kenny are you trying to tell me what I think you're trying to tell me?" He could feel his voice starting to shake and fought to keep it under control. _Stay calm, Stan. Stay calm. He needs you. You can freak out and all that shit once he's okay, _he told himself. His friend didn't answer. He wasn't sure if Kenny was even listening to him. The way the boy was reacting... it was like he was somewhere else.

"I'm gonna go for a second, okay? I'm gonna get the shower going so you can get cleaned up." The boy just looked at him, still babbling. This time it was something about cheesy poofs. When he turned to leave, however, the blonde snatched at his hand. "No," he said seriously. "Don't leave, Stan. Please don't leave me."

"Okay, dude. I won't leave you alone, I promise," The dark-haired boy answered, turning to face his friend. "Can you walk?" He asked. As expected, Kenny shook his head no. Stan sighed gently and reached around the boy, lifting him gently off of the bed. He was careful not to put pressure on the places that Kenny had said were hurting him, but the blonde grimaced in pain anyway. "Sorry, buddy," Stan whispered, "It won't take long."

He let the boy down carefully on the bathroom floor, close enough so that Kenny could lean against the bathtub if he needed to. The blonde did so instantly, resting his head on the side of the tub. Stan started the water, letting it heat up as he looked back down at Kenny again. His eyes were beginning to close again, his breathing slowing as if he were falling asleep. "Come on, Ken," he said, resting his hand on the smaller boy's head. "You've got to stay awake."

"I am." The boy said sharply. "Just dizzy." Stan looked down at his friend quizzically. That was the second time that the boy had claimed to be dizzy. He knew that blood loss could lead to dizziness, or it could have been a side-effect of the pain. Or even both. He lifted Kenny slightly, looking down at the back of his friend's tattered blue boxers.

"Fuck," he muttered. It was even harder now to deny what he was suspecting. _Oh God,_ he thought to himself. _Poor Kenny._

For a little while he just sat there, letting the shower heat up and watching Kenny struggle to stay conscious. Then he turned the boy over as gently as he could, slipping off his friend's boxers. It was inevitable, really. As he did, he noticed the dried bloodstains on the boy's thighs, and he grimaced.

_Ouch._

Showering Kenny was surprisingly easy. The boy wasn't alert enough to protest, giving only the occasional jump and groan of pain. Stan's embarrassment at seeing him nude faded quickly as he concentrated on keeping the boy awake and getting him clean.

`He wrapped the blonde in an oversized towel when he was finished, and Kenny passed out again as Stan carried him back to the bedroom. Curled up in the towel on the rug, the boy looked almost peaceful. Stan couldn't help but sneak a look at him every so often as he started to gather the laundry. Before he took everything to the laundry room, however, the dark-haired boy unwrapped his friend from the towel and dressed him in a pair of pajama pants and boxers that he had outgrown years ago.

Before he could let Kenny rest, Stan knew that he needed to figure out how to wrap the boy's bandages. He couldn't go to the hospital. The doctors there were as stupid as any other adult in South Park, even the ones who hadn't graduated middle school, and they would ask too many questions that Stan couldn't answer. Besides, Kenny hated hospitals, and he didn't want to do anything that would further jeopardize the boy's sanity. It seemed like what had happened to him was doing that well enough. He sighed, breathing deeply to get his emotions under control, and logged in to his computer, pulling up eHow from his bookmarks. That website had saved his ass numerous times, and now he needed its advice to save his friend.

It took him almost an hour to finish with the bandages. Kenny's injuries interfered with each other, making it difficult for him to secure one without possibly hurting the other. It wasn't a permanent solution, but the makeshift splints would keep Kenny from hurting himself any more until he was conscious again. Then they could think about a permanent way to take care of his injuries. Sighing softly, Stan lifted his friend off of the floor and lay him in the bed. Now he could let the blonde rest on his own.

Downstairs, he filled the washing machine as the thoughts he had been pushing away started to bombard him. _Poor Kenny. I just can't believe that anyone would do that to him. Who could really be that heartless and hurt him like that? What if he doesn't get better? What if I hurt him by doing this? What if..._ It took Stan a moment to realize that he had started to cry.

_It just isn't fair._


	3. Chapter 3: Realization

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park, but I do own the cinnamon-flavored gum I chewed while writing this. I also don't own eHow or WebMD. Or Florida. Hopefully my ass is covered now.

_A/N: I adore you guys for reviewing and faving this story. Gah, sorry it's been so long coming. I dunno what came over me. This'll be updated very frequently this month to make up for it. xD._

_I heart you all._

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><p>Chapter Three: Realization<p>

Kyle rolled over in bed, groaning at the sudden ringing noise attacking his eardrums and interrupting his sleep. Yawning, he grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and looked at the screen, eyes narrowing at the bright light. "Ugh..." He groaned, flipping the phone open. "Stan, what do you want?"

Discounting his parents and his brother, there were only two people in the world that Kyle Broflovski would ever answer his phone in the middle of the night for: Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick. Everyone else could wait until morning.

"Dude, Kenny's at my house! He's seriously fucked up right now, and I don't know what to do! I need your help!" Came his best friend's panicked voice. Kyle frowned. He knew that Kenny came to Stan for help fairly often, and that there were more incidences of this than he actually knew about. Only twice had Stan ever called him asking for help with Kenny, and both times had been life-threatening for the tiny blonde. If there was a problem serious enough for Stan to call him about, it had to be an emergency.

"Hang on, dude," Kyle answered, sitting up and reaching for his hat. "I'm on my way."

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><p>Stan flipped his phone shut and rested his head against the door-frame outside of his bedroom. He was suddenly exhausted thanks to the night's events, the emotions sucking his energy.<p>

He didn't like that he had needed to call Kyle. He really resented ever needing outside help when it came to medicine. Stan was proud of his medical knowledge. He was no doctor of course, but he had taught himself enough about medicine that he could get by in most situations. Kyle called him eccentric for it; maybe he was. Kenny found it amusing, lightly teasing him whenever he found Stan surfing eHow and WebMD, just trying to absorb medical knowledge. Still, the blonde had admitted more than once that his friend's obsession was useful.

The problem wasn't that Stan didn't know how to help his friend. He knew that he could take care of Kenny's broken bones and heal his cuts and bruises easily. He simply didn't know what he was supposed to do for everything else. Sometimes, Stan's emotions got in the way of his ability to reason, and that was why he needed Kyle. Kyle was smart, a straight A student who somehow always knew what needed to be done.

Stan also knew that, whenever Kenny was involved, he couldn't make rational decisions. There was just something about the tiny blonde boy in his bed that drove Stan crazy. He wanted to protect his friend at all costs, to drive away the sadness and the pain. And sometimes this led to crazy, irrational decisions.

That was why the dark-haired boy wasn't allowing himself to think about what had happened to Kenny, not until Kyle came. He needed Kyle there to keep him from doing something rash that would wind up with him either being arrested or dead.

A faint whimper came from his bedroom, and he looked in to see the boy awake and shaking violently. The soft glow of Stan's bedside lamp illuminated his friend's face; his eyes wide with fear as he tried to pull himself underneath the covers. It was the same thing he always did when upset. He tried to make a fabric wall with his parka to block out the world. "Shh, Kenny." The athlete whispered, rushing across the floor to the smaller boy's side. "I'm right here. I'll make it better. I promise." He brushed his fingers gently across the boy's face and knelt by the bed until the blonde began to calm down again.

Somehow he was relieved when Kyle's car pulled into the driveway. He looked at Kenny quickly. "Kyle's here," he said softly, standing up to give his knees a break. "Will you be okay if I go let him in?" Kenny said nothing in reply, merely closing his eyes. Stan backed slowly out of the room, trying his best to be quiet.

As soon as Kenny couldn't see him anymore, Stan quickened his pace so that he was at the door before Kyle even managed to ring the doorbell. "Ssh!" he said through clenched teeth, ushering the taller boy inside.

"How bad is he?" Kyle asked, slamming the door behind him. He noticed immediately how visibly upset his friend was. If Stan was shaken, Kenny must have been in pretty bad shape. Stan looked away. "He's..." He found himself suddenly unable to finish his sentence. Kyle placed a hand on his shoulder as a comforting gesture, and Stan looked at him gratefully. "Somebody hurt him." He blurted. Kyle didn't seem at all fazed by this information. "Who?" The redhead asked, "His parents?" Stan shook his head. "This was new. It really shook him. I mean..." He stopped for a moment, taking a breath. "It kind of sounded like..."

Stan jumped as the realization hit him. Kenny's incoherent babbling kept returning to a few select words. Fatass. Cheesy Poofs. Body odor and gingivitis. All of those things added together to only one.

"Fuck."

Kyle looked at him quizzically. "What?" Stan frowned, absorbed in his thoughts. _But he wouldn't do this, would he? Cartman is Kenny's super best friend, isn't he? _Kyle groaned. "I hate it when you get like this, dude. Tell me what's going on!" Instead, Stan took his friend's wrist and brought him upstairs. "Stan, wha-" the boy was quick to quiet him, glaring and holding a finger to his lips. "Not so loud. He might be asleep."

He could tell that Kenny's sleep was a fitful one. The boy had already kicked much of the blanket off of the bed, and his facial expression was switching between one of pain and one of disgust. Luckily for the tiny blond, Stan's handiwork was holding fast and strong. He couldn't afford any more injuries.

Stan looked up at the redhead beside him, gauging Kyle's reaction. Even after Stan had cleaned him up and fixed his wounds to the best of his ability, Kenny simply looked terrible. The taller boy stared for a moment, his eyes wandering along Kenny's fragile frame. "I think you have a lot of explaining to do, dude." He whispered finally.

The two sat on Stan's parents' bed so that they could talk without waking Kenny, but still be close to him. Stan sighed, leaning back against the headboard and closing his eyes. Kyle couldn't help but smile at him. "Dude, you look beat." Stan just nodded. "I am." he groaned. Kyle pulled his friend forward, giving the athlete no chance to fall asleep. "Your parents are still in Florida visiting Shelly, right?" Stan nodded again. "Good. Now tell me everything."

Stan frowned, trying to decide what he should tell Kyle and what he should leave out. "Well, I was watching the game and I just barely heard a noise like somebody knocked on the door. So, I came to get the door, and when I opened it up, he'd already fainted. He comes here all the time, you know that, but he's never fainted before I got him inside before. So, I took him upstairs and fixed him up and he's been like that ever since."

Kyle sighed. "Like what, dude? Can you please just tell me what's going on instead of trying to act all mysterious and shit? The only person around here good at being mysterious is Kenny. You suck at it." Stan grumbled for a moment under his breath. "Look, dude. When I was cleaning him up I asked him to tell me what happened. It didn't really make much sense. Kind of like his brain was scrambled or something. But I got enough out of it to make a guess. He said something about a fatass being on top of him, and that he was a weakling and a whore. His ass was bleeding, for god's sake." Stan looked away, hoping that Kyle would make the leap on his own.

"When you say fatass, to you mean _the_ fatass?" Kyle asked. Stan nodded. "I think so." Kyle looked into the bedroom where Kenny lay, watching the tiny boy's fitful sleep. "Cartman...did he..._rape_ Kenny?" He said the word so softly that Stan almost didn't hear him. The athlete nodded, his face set in a grim expression. "That's what I guessed, but I don't know for sure."

The boys sat for a minute, letting reality sink in. Kenny was going to need help, and a lot of recovery time. Most importantly, he was going to need his friends. The loss of Cartman wasn't going to help. He'd never been a nice person by any means, but the fatass had been Kenny's "super best friend." The betrayal must have hurt. It hurt Stan and Kyle, and they weren't the ones who had been directly injured by what Cartman had done. Neither boy could imagine what the ordeal would do to Kenny's mental state.

"So, what do we do?" Kyle asked finally. Stan shrugged. "I thought you'd know. That's why I called. We can't take him to the hospital. Not until he can make the decision himself. The idiots there would probably end up replacing his heart with a potato or something while trying to set his broken wrist. Besides, it's not smart to move him too much in his condition."

"What is his condition, exactly?" Kyle asked. Stan answered this question easily. "He definitely has a broken wrist. I think he's also got a fractured rib and collarbone. It looked like his shoulder at first, but that's a tough bone to break. The impact probably would have traveled along his collarbone instead and broke that. There's all that, and a bunch of other bruises, and he's got cuts or something in his ass that will heal themselves eventually, but probably hurt like hell."

Kyle sighed. "So, the only thing we can really do right now is sit here and hope he's conscious when we wake up?" Stan nodded. "Pretty much." Kyle sighed again, exasperated. "Then what did you need me to come up here for?" Stan frowned and looked down at the bedspread. "Because I really, really want to go murder Cartman right now, and you'd hopefully stop me if I tried to. It seems like a good idea right now, but I remember there being a reason not to kill him at some point." Kyle couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Stan trying to kill Cartman. "Dude," he said, "You won't kill Cartman. I know you better than that. But I'll stay here anyway to make sure."

"Thanks," Stan replied, ignoring his friend's laughter. There was probably a reason for it. "You can sleep in here or on the couch or something, I guess. I wouldn't suggest Shelly's room. She's been in Florida more than a year and it still creeps me out." The dark-haired boy slid off of the bed and started toward his bedroom. "Where are you sleeping?" Kyle asked, stretching out on the bed. "My room," Stan answered. "I don't want him to wake up alone."

As soon as Stan left the room, Kyle rolled over and took off his hat. He didn't mind sleeping in Stan's parents' bed. It was comfortable. He curled up under the top blanket, careful to avoid going underneath the sheets, and closed his eyes. Something told him that he was going to need the sleep. The boys had a long road ahead of themselves.

"Goddamn it, Cartman," he muttered.


	4. Chapter 4: Awake

A/N: Oh, look what I found on my hard drive that I meant to upload a month ago? Sorry for the wait, guys. A bit of actual Stenny in this one. The next chapter has more. xD.

Disclaimer: Ehh, I'm too lazy to think of a creative one. I don't own South Park.

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><p>Chapter Four: Awake<p>

When Stan awoke on the third day of Kenny's stay, he found himself staring into two, bright, electric blue eyes. Not only was Kenny awake, but he was smiling. It was a sight that Stan hasn't seen in a long, long time.

"Stan." He breathed when he noticed that the athlete was awake. Stan melted in relief. Kenny seemed aware of his surroundings, which was more than he could say for the other brief moments that the blond had been conscious since his arrival. "Hey, Kenny." he whispered back. He stood up and stretched, his body cramped from the awkward position he'd fallen asleep in. He'd been sitting beside the bed, his head and one arm resting on the mattress, and had stayed that way for the whole night. He winced as he lowered his arm, which had grown so stiff that it hurt him to lower it.

Kenny started to shift his position, but stopped abruptly. Stan could see the pain written on his face. "Want something for that, dude?" Kenny clearly didn't want to admit how much pain he was in. He was Kenny McCormick, for god's sake! He was stronger than a few broken bones. _And a sore ass_, a little voice reminded him. He scowled. "It's nothing." He answered Stan, trying to mask the pain. Stan could see right through Kenny's charade, but kept his mouth shut. He'd do whatever Kenny wanted, whatever would make the tiny blond in his bed feel better.

"How long has it been?" Kenny muttered. Stan looked back down at him. "About three days since you showed up. You really had me worried, Ken." The smaller boy grinned at him. "You should know better than that, Stanny. It's going to take more than that to get rid of me." His expression turned solemn a moment later.

"It wasn't just a nightmare, was it?" he asked softly, so quietly that Stan almost didn't even hear him. Stan looked away, afraid to say exactly what Kenny was dreading to hear. The blond understood Stan's reluctance, and he closed his eyes. "Shit. I was really hoping it was." Stan sighed and looked back at Kenny. "Whatever you need, dude. I'm going to do whatever I can to help you. Kyle, too."

For a moment, Kenny looked at him with what Stan thought was a mixture of sadness, longing, pain, and affection. It was gone a second later. "Can you help me get these blankets off? I'm hot as hell and kind of tied up here." Stan blushed. "Yeah, sorry about that, Ken. I had to, or you would have really messed yourself up." Kenny snorted. "I think I already am pretty messed up." Stan frowned as he started to pull the blanket off of his friend. "Yeah," he said softly. "You are." I don't know if Stan would say that. Sounds a little...harsh for the situation.

"So, when do you unwrap me, dude?" Kenny asked a minute later, after Stan had sat down in the desk chair. The dark-haired boy shrugged. "I'll probably change them pretty soon. They'll be kind of gross after a few days." The blond smiled. "It's a good thing that I have my own personal live-in nurse, huh?" Stan snorted. Kenny was being himself, cracking jokes to diffuse the tension and lighten a stressful situation. It made him feel incredibly happy for some reason.

"You hungry, Ken?" he asked, smiling. Kenny nodded as furiously as he could, wincing when he realized that even nodding caused him pain. Stan forced a chuckle. "Alright," he said softly, "I'll go see what we've got. Will you be okay up here for a little while?" Kenny paused for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally. It was almost like he was trying to heal too quickly, wishing that he hadn't been affected by what Cartman had done. He was trying to be stronger than he really was.

"Call me if you need anything, okay?" He said, concern in his voice. "I'll be fine." The smaller boy insisted.

When Stan left the room, Kenny realized instantly that he'd made a bad decision, and hated himself for it. He was _Kenny McCormick._ Why was he so afraid of being alone? He winced after a particularly sharp breath. And why couldn't he take the pain? It was just pain. He felt worse pain every time he died. This pain was just lasting longer. Was he really that much of a pussy when it came to pain, then? Was there a time limit on his pain tolerance?

The blond shifted again, this time ignoring the pain and trying to pull himself into a sitting position. It was easier said than done. One of his hands was in a sling against his chest, and his free hand hurt too much for him to lift off of the bed. The brace wrapped around it would make gripping things difficult, if that hand was strong enough to grip things at all. There were bandages wrapped around his entire torso, masking whatever injury was making it so difficult for him to breathe. He lay back on the bed, exhausted from his failed effort. He cursed himself. This wasn't like him. He was so weak that he couldn't even sit up. He was disgusted by the very thought.

"Well, there's no food. At least, nothing that I can just reheat. And trust me, dude, you don't want to eat my cooking." Kenny smiled at his friend's words, and Stan smiled back just seeing the boy smile. It was a good sign. "I can have Kyle bring takeout, if you want." He said. "Pizza?" Kenny asked, a note of eagerness in his voice. Stan grinned. "Pizza it is. I'll have Kyle stop at Shakey's."

He sat in his desk chair again, flipped open his phone, and hit Kyle's number on speed dial. His friend's voice came through, surrounded by static. "Hey, what's up?" Kyle asked. "How's he doing?" He meant Kenny, of course. "Hungry." Stan answered, a note of relief in his voice.

"Kyle, I want pizza!" Kenny called from the bed. Stan chuckled. "Was that him? Is he awake?" Kyle asked. "Yup." Stan answered, his smile creeping into his voice. "Alright, pizza." The taller boy said quickly. Stan could hear voices in the background. Kyle must have just been getting out of school. Stan had skipped the last two day before vacation in order to stay with Kenny. He was glad that he had.

"Hey, can Craig and Tweek come eat pizza? They've got work for you guys." Stan groaned. "Why do they have to give us work over winter break? It's called break, not work." Kyle chuckled. "Yeah," Stan added, "I think they'll be fine. See you in half an hour."

With the food taken care of, Stan set to work unwrapping Kenny's bandages. They were starting to smell funny, and he could tell that they weren't comfortable. He wiped the smaller boy's skin with a wet towel before he put the new bandages on, cleaning away some of the dried sweat. "Think I can tell the teachers I was injured in a horrible accident and can't do my work?" The blond asked. Stan chuckled. "It's believable enough. You're always close to death, it seems."

He wrapped Kenny's ribs first, careful not to make the bandages so tight that his friend couldn't breathe. He could tell that breathing was difficult for the boy, and hoped that it didn't mean that there was a more serious problem. He liked to think that he was helping Kenny, not hurting him. "Ken, do you want to go to the hospital?" He asked, fastening the first bandage. The blond looked confused. "Can't you take care of me? I don't like the hospital. They always kill me." Stan smiled. "That's an exaggeration." He said. After all, if the hospital had killed Kenny, he wouldn't be lying there. "Okay," Kenny muttered. "They almost always kill me."

Stan refastened the wrist brace and looked at Kenny's shoulder. The sling was the most comfortable way to deal with a broken collarbone, but it left Kenny without a free hand. It would be smarter to use an x-shaped wrap to keep the bone in place but allow Kenny to use his good hand.

Kenny looked down at it when Stan had finished. "That's different," he mused, stretching out his good arm to relieve the stiffness that the sling had left. "I like it." Stan smiled.

The blonde reached out to Stan, who took his hand and looked at him, unsure. "Help me up," Kenny said, clarifying his intentions. "Oh," Stan said. He half-lifted Kenny off of the bed, holding the boy's hand to help Kenny steady himself. He wrapped an arm around the blond and let go of Kenny's hand, letting the boy get used to standing. "Are you sure you're okay getting up? You don't have to, yet, you know."

Kenny nodded gently, gritting his teeth before taking one hesitant step. Pain radiated through his body, and he gasped before he could help himself. In one swift, gentle motion, the football player lifted his friend into his arms, placing his hands specifically where he knew he wouldn't be hurting the smaller boy.

Kenny tried to glare angrily at him, but he was too relieved that he pain had dulled. Stan's arms were comfortable, and he was warm. He cuddled against the taller boy's chest without realizing what he was doing, resting his head, right against Stan's heart. He could hear it beating. It was speeding up, like Stan had suddenly grown flustered.

_Oh yeah, I'm fucking cuddling him. _Kenny pulled back, the color rising to his cheeks. He just liked being held by Stan. Sometimes he even dreamed about just cuddling with Stan, the dark-haired boy holding him close. How gay was that?

Stan held back his blush with an inhuman effort, concentrating on carrying Kenny downstairs as fluidly as possible. That boy got him so flustered. He couldn't help his affection for his friend, but he did his best to hide it. It would make things too awkward if Kenny didn't feel the same way about him.

He just wished that there was a way to know for sure.


End file.
